To Heal Anew
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: Sara never got to meet her, but she knew she would have loved Grissom's mother.


_**Cheesefires, you da bomb!**_

_**

* * *

**_Hundreds, thousands maybe. 

Shards of glass scattered across the floor, skittering, hissing. They bounced off the breakfast bar, off of the door. Some landed on his couch, some on the coffee table. The vase was decimated before he could even realize what he was doing. It struck the wall and shattered, expensive crystal flying before him, catching the glare in his eyes from so many different angles.

His forehead captured his angst and torment, encounters from years past. They settled there and rendered him a sad, lonely man. A sad, lonely man staring down at vestiges of an expensive vase. One his mother had given him. But she was dead, dead and buried, two days gone.

He felt awful for not having spent her last hours with her. Had she had anyone to watch over her in those last minutes? Had cousin Larry decided to show up? Did uncle John wait by her bedside and hold her hand as she slipped into oblivion? He doubted it, his family had never been close, and if it hadn't been for his weekly call home, he probably wouldn't have known at all.

Seventy glorious years, seventy years of peaceful beauty.

He remembered the last time he saw her, nearly half a year ago, the fall. They'd shared Thanksgiving dinner and raked her backyard, having to drop rakes to sign in fury. Jokes couldn't be told by voiceless lips, only by their hands. She'd asked him why he didn't have a "girl" and he'd just shrugged and she threw a fistful of leaves at him.

For an elderly woman, she ran rather fast and chasing her down hadn't been so easy. He threw leaves back at her and she told him how she missed her boy, how she missed him so. There were kisses on the head and hugs at the sink and he felt like he was twelve again. It had been nice.

They sat at the dinner table that night and drank hot cocoa and discussed work and art, and a woman named Sara who he'd mentioned so many times before that Rosemary felt that she knew her. Gil promised his mother that she would meet this 'Sara' one day and his mother smiled, called him stubborn and betted not.

If she had just... if there had been three months to spare, his mother would have had the chance. Would have pinched her cheeks and called her perfect and hugged her close and stuffed her full of apple pie.

She would have left him to ply her with wine on her couch. And Gil and Sara would have made love in the living room, both oh so quiet, ignoring the fact that they knew she was deaf. The entire house would have blossomed with love, he was sure of it, if his mother had just waited three months.

He didn't hear the knock at his door, didn't hear when it creaked open. It was a low sob that brought his eyes up to focus.

She was there on his doorstep, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I tried."

His feet crunched over the delicate vestiges of crystal as he moved closer to the door. His voice was lost and ragged when he spoke to her, "Tried... tried what?" His lips were drawn tightly, his eyes red from crying. He'd saved the tears for when he returned home. The first woman he'd ever loved, the first who didn't care that he was odd, the one who put him through school, the one he'd bought a Cadillac for... the one woman who he could face unabashed... she was gone.

Sara choked out some sort of explanation. "I didn't know where it was, but I thought-Marina Del Ray isn't that big, I should have been able to... Grissom, I'm so sorry." Her eyes overflowed then, large, fat tears coursing down her cheeks.

It took a moment for the words to sink in, for the implication of what she said to take form. Marina Del Ray, his mother, the funeral. She'd tried to... what?

"I tried, but I didn't know her name and I didn't know where it was." She sobbed out loud, her hands helpless at her sides. "And her last name isn't even Grissom, is it?" No, she shook her head no. "I couldn't find it. I wanted to..."

Grissom stared at her, wide-eyed and astonished. "I wanted to help you, and I couldn't find it." Her clothes were disheveled, bags hanging under her eyes. So, so sad, so helpless. "Catherine told me but..."

Her eyes met his again, big and wanting. Sara bit her lip and was jolted by the sob that passed through her. "Grissom, I'm so sorry that you had to do that alone." She made no movement, didn't bother moving to him, just stood in his doorway a sad and broken woman, an image of himself he supposed.

A woman whom he loved, crying for another woman he loved but had never met. It didn't make any sense. And yet the tears kept coming, wrenching from her body in soft cries. "I'm so sorry."

It was all she kept saying, a mantra that broke him. He began to cry again. "It's..." It's what? What is it? "It's okay," he murmured low and forlorn, lost. It was the only thing he knew to say to her, his palms forward, and an offering of nothing. But she shook her head quickly and moved a step into his home, not bothering to close the door.

"It's not okay, you shouldn't have had to..." She looked to the ceiling, licked her lips and captured his eyes once more. "I wish I had known her, Grissom." Sara nodded and swallowed a lump in her throat. "I would have, I would have liked her."

Grissom managed a genuine laugh, accompanied by a genuine smile. "You, Sara, you never even-"

"She raised you, didn't she?" And her smile appeared for a moment before being stolen back by the teeth clenching her lips. "I know I... I would have loved her too. That's... that's all."

He didn't know what to do so he stood there, some ten feet away and cried, cried harder than she was. Tears, symmetrical tears trailed down his cheeks and she turned to leave, but his low sobs made her hesitate. Instead, she walked to the door and shut it, steadying her hand on the cool wood for a moment before turning to face him. "Griss..."

"Sara-" Chocked and alone.

She walked to him slowly, avoiding the glass as best she could, waiting for him to turn away, to retreat into his misery, but he didn't. He simply stood crying before her, palms out, seeking something to hold. She walked to him, placing her hands in his and he pulled her forward, into his arms and grabbed her, crying, gasping for breath.

She too cried, running her hands up and down his back, attempting to soothe him, knowing it was fruitless. His head molded to her neck and his tears and open mouth wet her shirt, but she didn't care. She walked them to the couch and sat down and cradled him to her for long minutes. Sara held him until the tears subsided and all he could do was emit long, shaky breaths and hiccoughs.

"Shhhh," she interjected from time to time, stroking a hand over his hair, over his back. She kissed his nape at one point and convinced herself that he couldn't feel it because he was shaking so hard.

"Shhh," she offered again and he pulled his face away from of her neck and looked at her, eyes puffy, face drawn. He kissed her then, lips tasting of salt and sadness and she held him there as long as he needed.


End file.
